Being present with where you are in life isn't always easy, but during a recent half marathon, I learned it's worth the challenge.

This photograph probably wouldn't have happened a few years ago. In my 13 years of running, I have always raced with a time goal. This year, I experienced a newfound sense of happiness to cross a finish line, not in an all-out sprint, eyes laser-focused on the clock, but instead, hand-in-hand with my four-year-old daughter, Lilly—running at her pace. This was an extraordinary and completely unfamiliar personal best for me. It's memory making at its finest.

After suffering nagging low back and hamstring issues from a car accident last year, I took time off to get healthy. My debut on the running scene was at the Lehigh Valley's VIA Half Marathon. The experience completely changed my lens about my identity as a runner.

When my hamstring pain returned, rearing its ugly head the week of the race, I realized I really shouldn't push the pace. For the first time, I decided to run a race knowing my recorded time would be much slower than my slowest half. Like many goal-oriented runners, I struggle with not meeting the personal goals I set for myself. But instead of focusing on the personal best time I wouldn't meet, I decided to spend 13.1 miles reflecting on the meaning of being at your personal best.

One of my strengths as a runner is my mental toughness. While this helps me keep going when I'm tired and to stay dedicated to my training, on the flip side, my mental strength may not allow me to be human—to be vulnerable. I encourage, and absolutely love, this of others. But I don't allow it of myself.

By redefining my goals for race day, I realized I was at my personal best that morning—because I was doing everything I could with what I was given. The ebb and flow of life encourages us to adjust, to learn, to discover, and most of all to grow. I recognized I wasn't allowing myself to be human. I reflected on the implications of these self-imposed standards and concurrently connected with my life in a way I have never done before—recognize, reflect, connect. While I espouse this in my teaching (I'm an associate professor of management at a college), I realized I wasn't enacting this with my own life.

I am sharing this with the hope that I can encourage others to be vulnerable, not only with the people in your life, but even more, with yourself. Life is not perfect, but it certainly is a gift.